Sleep fell upon my senses and I d… Long years had circled since my li… The world was different, and all t… Remote and strange, like noises to… And one great Voice there was; an…

FITCH: 'All vices you’ve exhausted, frien… So all the papers say.' PICKERING: ‘Ah, what vile calumnies are penne…

Saint Peter, standing at the Gate… A soul whose body Death had latel… A pleasant soul as ever was, he se… His step was joyous and his visage… ‘Good morning, Peter.’ There was…

He held a book in his knotty paws, And its title grand read he: 'The Chronicles of the Kings’ it… By the History Companee. 'I’m a monarch,' he said

Hail, blessed Blunder! golden ido… Clay-footed deity of all who fail. Celestial image, let thy glory shi… Thy feet concealing, but a lamp to… Let me, at seasons opportune and f…

Beauty (they called her) wasn’t a… Of many things in the world afraid… She wasn’t a maid who turned and f… At sight of a mouse, alive or dead… She wasn’t a maid a man could 'sho…

Here sleeps one of the greatest st… Of jurisprudence. Nature endowed him with the gift Of the juristhrift. All points of law alike he threw

Daughter of God! Audacity divine Of clowns the terror and of brains… Not thou the inspirer of the rushi… Not thine of idiots the vocal droo… Thy bastard sister of the brow of…

So, in the Sunday papers _you_, D… Damn, all great Englishmen in Eng… I am no Englishman, but in my rea… A rogue shall never rail where her… You are the man, if I mistake you…

SHE: I’m told that men have sometimes g… Too confidential, and Have said to one another what They-well, you understand.

I lay one happy night in bed And dreamed that all the dogs were… They’d all been taken out and shot Their bodies strewed each vacant l… O’er all the earth, from Berkeley…

Because that I am weak, my love,… I cannot follow the impatient feet Of my desire, but sit and watch th… Of the unpitying pendulum fulfill The hour appointed for the air to…

O Abner Doble-whose 'catarrhal na… Budd of that ilk might envy-'tis a… Rude thing to say, but it is plain… Your name is to be sneezed at: its… Will 'fill the speaking trump of f…

'The Social World’! O what a wor… Where full-grown men cut capers in… Cotillion, waltz, or what you will… And spin and hop and sprawl about… I wonder if our future Grant or S…

You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor… A painted beard. Quite likely tha… And sure 'tis natural you spend yo… On what has been least merciful to… By Taylor’s chin, if I am not mis…